Page 135 of A Dawn of Gods & Fury

“And there will be even more next time.”

The weight of his words settles on me. “So, if I do not agree to this, then what?”

“There is no if, Annika.” Tyree turns to me, anger flaring in his eyes. “You are not anyone’s sacrifice. We are leaving now and getting as far from here as we can before they realize we are gone.” As if trying to temper his harsh tone, he collects my face in his hands and says softly, “This will not be something else you have to endure because of my actions.”

I nod, my voice momentarily lost. I regard the shackled female. “We can’t leave her like that.”

“We have no choice. Destry warned me that the Azyr will know the moment she dies, and there will be little chance for our escape.”

“But—”

“No, Annika. She is almost gone, anyway, and we must be far away from here by sunrise.” He collects my hand and leads me to our escape route.

37

Atticus

The approaching footsteps are a touch louder tonight, the effort to unlock the door less stealthy.

“Still not an assassin?” I watch Satoria set her lantern down and cross the floor of my cage.

“What do you think?” She keeps her nightgown on, but she may as well not, given how sheer it is. I won’t complain—it is easy to confirm she has no weapons hidden anywhere.

“I think you are still trying to get me killed.”

“And I think you can accomplish that just as well on your own.” She slips into bed beside me.

Despite my better judgment, I lift an arm to allow her the crook, and she nestles her slight body flush against my side as if we were lovers.

“You smell nice,” she purrs.

“They allowed me use of the bathing pool tonight.” And brought me fresh clothes.

“Because I ordered them to.” Her fingertip trails over my chest, tracing the curves. “How is your injury?”

Her question triggers my need to roll my shoulder. “Nearly healed.” I pause. “I thought the king was supposed to execute me today. Instead, he gave me tea.”

“His family’s ancient blend? I’m surprised you didn’t beg for a sword through your gullet after tasting that.”

I chuckle at her glib answer and enjoy a moment of peaceful quiet before asking, “Why am I still here?”

“Perhaps he likes you.”

“I am a highly likable sort.”

“Or he sees value in keeping you alive.”

“Just as he sees value in sending his wife here to seek information?”

To that, she has no answer, but her teasing hand shifts farther down, to settle above the waistband of my loose-fitting linen pants.

“Tell me, Satoria, how many children do you have with him?”

“None.”

My eyebrows arch. “Four wives and thirty-two offspring, and none are yours?”

“I am incapable of having them. The conjurer says my womb will not produce.”

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